Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(61)

‘The bastard.’

‘They obviously saw you coming, major. But it’s not all bad news, because Lady Virginia made a profit of over seventy thousand pounds on her original investment, so I reckon she owes you one.’



Giles couldn’t have worked any harder during the final week of the campaign, even if at times he felt like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up a hill.

When he turned up at campaign headquarters on the eve of the poll, it was the first time he’d seen Griff looking depressed.

‘Ten thousand of these were dropped into letterboxes right across the constituency last night, just in case anybody might have missed it.’

Giles looked at a reproduction of the front page of the Bristol Evening Post with Virginia’s photograph above her letter to Fisher. Underneath it were the words: If you want to be represented in Parliament by an honest and decent man, vote Fisher.

‘That man’s a piece of shit,’ said Griff. ‘And he’s been dumped right on top of us from a great height,’ he added as one of the first volunteers strolled in carrying the morning papers.

Giles slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. But a moment later he could have sworn he heard Griff laughing. He was laughing. He opened his eyes and Griff passed him a copy of the Daily Mail. ‘It’s going to be close, my boy, but at least we’re back in the race.’

Giles didn’t immediately recognize the pretty girl on the front page, who had just been chosen to star in The Benny Hill Show. Jenny had told the showbiz correspondent about the job she’d been doing before she got her big break.

‘I was paid ten pounds a day to escort a Tory candidate around his constituency, and tell everyone I was his girlfriend.’

Giles didn’t think it was a very good photograph of Fisher.



Fisher swore out loud when he saw the front page of the Daily Mail.

He drained his third cup of black coffee and got up to leave for campaign headquarters, just as he heard the morning post landing on the mat. Any letters would have to wait until tonight, and he would have ignored them if he hadn’t spotted one with the Barrington’s company crest on it. He bent down, picked it up and returned to the kitchen. He tore it open and extracted two cheques, one made out to him, for ￡1,000, his quarterly payment as a director of Barrington’s, the second for ￡7,341, Lady Virginia’s annual dividend, also made out to ‘Major Alexander Fisher’ so that no one would know it was her 71?2 per cent stockholding that made it possible for him to be on the board. No longer.

When he got back this evening, he would make out a cheque for the same amount and send it on to Lady Virginia. Wondering if it was too early to phone her, he checked his watch. It was a few minutes past eight, and he was meant to be standing outside Temple Meads meeting voters as they came out of the station on their way to work. Surely she would be awake by now. He picked up the phone and dialled a Kensington number.

It rang several times before a sleepy voice came on the line. He nearly put the phone down.

‘Who is this?’ Virginia demanded.

‘It’s Alex Fisher. I thought I’d call to let you know I’ve sold all your Barrington’s stock, and you’ve made a profit of over seventy thousand.’ He waited for a thank you, but nothing was forthcoming. ‘I wondered if you had any plans to buy back your shares?’ he asked. ‘After all, you’ve made a handsome return since I’ve been on the board.’

‘And so have you, major, as I’m sure I don’t have to remind you. But my plans for the future have changed somewhat, and they no longer include Barrington’s.’

‘But if you don’t buy back your seven and a half per cent, I’ll forfeit my place on the board.’

‘I won’t be losing a lot of sleep over that, major.’

‘But I wondered, given the circumstances . . .’

‘What circumstances?’

‘Whether you might consider a small bonus would be appropriate,’ he said, looking down at the cheque for ￡7,341.

‘How small?’

‘I thought, perhaps five thousand pounds?’

‘I’ll give it some thought.’ The line went quiet and Alex even wondered if he’d been cut off. Finally, Virginia said, ‘I’ve given it some thought, major, and decided against it.’

‘Then perhaps a loan . . .’ he said, trying not to sound desperate.

‘Didn’t your nanny tell you, neither a borrower nor a lender be? No, of course she didn’t, because you didn’t have a nanny.’

Virginia turned around and rapped loudly three times on the wooden bedstead.

‘Ah, the maid has just arrived with my breakfast, major, so I have to say goodbye. And when I say goodbye, I mean goodbye.’

Fisher heard the phone click. He stared at the cheque for ￡7,341, made out to him, and remembered Benny’s words: She owes you one.





24


GILES WAS UP at five on the morning of the election, and not just because he couldn’t sleep.

As he went downstairs Denby opened the door to the breakfast room and said, ‘Good morning, Sir Giles,’ as if there was a general election every day.

Giles entered the dining room, picked up a bowl from the sideboard and filled it with cornflakes and fruit. He was going over his schedule for the day when the door opened and in walked Sebastian, dressed in a smart blue blazer and grey flannels.